


the name of the game

by michelllejones



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, M/M, and really bad jokes, everyone might be a little ooc but oh well, it's 1996, the losers are camp counselors, watch out for a bunch of ocs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 03:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelllejones/pseuds/michelllejones
Summary: "Well, would you look at that," Richie crows, "we're bunkmates!"Eddie blanches. “W-what?” This has got to be some sort of sick joke. This is not happening to him. No way. God, he’s gonna be sick.Richie pats the bed situated directly over Eddie’s with an obnoxious grin on his face. “You and me. We’re bed buddies. Cabin chumps. Mattress mates. Pillow pals. Cool, huh?”“Yeah.” Eddie swallows,hard. “Cool.”or,Eddie applies to Camp Willow to be a camp counselor for the summer in order to avoid the wrath of his overbearing mother. The last thing he wants to do is to draw any attention to himself. But Richie's got other plans.





	the name of the game

**Author's Note:**

> guys. i don't know. i had an idea and i wrote it. bear with me

Out of all the possible outcomes this day could have presented him, Eddie never thought for a second to imagine himself ending up here. _Here_ being the ample nurse’s office of Camp Willow, where he sits in a cheap plastic chair, like the ones he was forced to use in school, with a bag of ice that’s been neatly wrapped in a paper towel pressed gingerly to the apple of his cheek. A tad elementary, maybe, but it certainly does the trick. 

His face is numb where there had been a sharp sting before, and the cool of the ice is kind of, sort of (but not really) distracting him from the rhythmic pounding in his temples. 

_But that’s what the aspirin is for_ , the nurse had told him with a sympathetic smile. Thus, he sits in the open corridor desperately awaiting said aspirin. 

She’s been gone all of one minute, “Nurse Mandy”, (she insisted Eddie call her that) which is not too long but long enough to let Eddie fall into a rather reflective reverie. He has time to wonder how he got here, what he did to deserve it, if there was more he could’ve done to prevent it... 

_A bus, probably because of that plastic wrapper you left at the airport gate this morning, and you should’ve run faster,_ his mind supplies him almost instantly, to which he nods slightly. Because they’re all true, objectively. The logic and the karma present very real factors that he cannot deny, so he won’t. 

“I really am sorry,” a voice says, nervous and wobbling around an uncertain apology. It pulls Eddie out of his head and catapults him into the reality he’s been dealt: the one where it’s his first day as a camp counselor and he’s already sitting in the nurse’s office because of some guy who must be hand-eye coordination’s mortal enemy. 

_Sorry._ The word hangs in the air, feeling as foreign as it sounds. Eddie lifts an eyebrow and thinks, _he’s probably never said that word in his entire life._

“S’fine,” he says to the linoleum as he kicks at it with his foot. Part of him wishes he were talking to it instead. 

Beside him, he can sense the shift the guy makes to face him. Eddie attempts to bury his face into the napkin resting on it. 

“I thought you saw it, really,” he insists. “I swear the ball just slipped, like a butter stick—or something…” his voice fades out timidly, and there is a beat of silence between them. He clears his throat in order to break it. 

“Stick of butter,” Eddie soliloquizes to the ice before he turns to his superfluous companion, “it’s no big deal, really. Least it makes for an interesting story.”

An embarrassed chuckle fills the room after a few seconds of notably uncomfortable silence. Eddie scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, tightens his grip on the ice pack as if it’s a lifeline. The air around them is stale and apprehensive, like how it feels when your teacher pairs you with some kid you don’t know instead of your friend for a project. 

Swallowing thickly, Eddie wonders just where Nurse Mandy disappeared to. How long does it take to find a bottle of aspirin?

“I’m Richie, by the way,” his voice cuts through Eddie’s thoughts again, taking him by surprise, because why the hell is he still here? He could’ve left the second Nurse Mandy handed him the ice, he could’ve stayed with his friends. He didn’t have to accompany Eddie at all. And yet... 

“You’ll need someone to blame when you tell the story,” he explains, as if that’s the only reason he has for introducing himself. “My full name’s actually Richard, so you could refer to me as ‘Dick’, if you wanted. I won’t be upset. I deserve it since, well—“

“—since you hit me in the face with a dusty old dodgeball,” Eddie finishes for him, combatting the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

Richie blanches as his jaw falls slack. “I—uh,” he sighs, “yeah.” He deflates like a balloon, sinking into his chair. So far so that he’s nearly level with Eddie, who is at least a couple inches shorter than him. 

Squinting at him, he figures there’s not much to do at this point other than introduce himself. Begrudgingly, he turns to Richie with a halfway genuine smile. 

“Eddie,” he says, to which Richie responds with a triumphant grin. Like he wasn’t expecting Eddie to say anything else, which probably would have been the wiser decision, but wise is not the word to use when describing Eddie Kaspbrak. “Inadequate” or “just below average but not quite” are words far more fitting. 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Eddie.” Richie replies in an off-putting cowboy accent, supplemented by an odd hat-tipping motion. The only thing Eddie can give in lieu of a response is a blank stare. 

And maybe it’s Eddie’s fault, but things are awkward again. Unbearably so. Neither of them speak, an apparent unspoken agreement that doing so would only further their already cumbersome situation. 

Finally, Nurse Mandy returns with a pill bottle in her hands and a skip in her step. She approaches them with a blinding smile, and inadvertently rescues them from whatever… that was. 

“Miss me?” She beams, practically dancing around the office as she opens the bottle. Eddie’s never seen anyone so happy to deliver a bottle of anti-inflammatories in his entire life. 

“Two of these,” she advises as she drops two white tablets into his waiting palm. “But let me get you some water, first, hon,” she says kindly, turning on her heel. 

Before Eddie even has the chance to tell her he’s always taken his pills dry (after years of practice), she’s filling a plastic cup nearly to the brim. When she hands the water to him with a genuine, kind look on her face, Eddie wordlessly accepts it. 

Tossing the capsules into the back of his throat, he makes a point of looking at her as he takes a sip of water to help them go down (masking that he’s already swallowed them). She watches him with a smile the entire time.

Through all of this, Richie remains. Sitting quietly in his respective seat, he twiddles his thumbs and stares at the posters on the wall intently. It’s almost like he is forcing himself to look straight ahead instead of at Eddie directly, which is a whole thing in itself. 

_Why are you still here?_ Eddie wants to ask, seeing that he’s gotten his ice pack, taken his medicine and has done just about all one can do when a ball hits them in the face. Richie doesn't need to dote on him anymore—not that he had to before. Eddie would have said no if he were able to, but he was left dazed and confused after the Accident. Now, however, he’s more than capable of ditching Richie and going on without him. But he has to figure out a way to say it without really having to _say it._

“I still have to go back to my room to change my shirt,” he wings it completely, hoping Richie catches his subtle hint. Which is, putting it politely: _Leave. Me. Alone._

Don’t get him wrong, he is duly grateful that the guy who’d nailed him smack dab in the face with a dodgeball was kind enough to escort him to the camp’s nurse’s office. 

Truth be told, Eddie totally expected him to just ignore it altogether and pretend like someone else threw the ball so he could go about his day. But the second Eddie had opened his eyes, moments after he lost his footing and fell flat on his back, he was met with the wide, frantic eyes of one Richie Tozier. For a split, very short-lived second, Eddie thought he must have died and gone to Heaven. 

(This was only because the glare of the sun looked a whole lot like the bright lights people see when they get to the gates of Heaven in the movies from where he lay on the ground. And then Richie stuck his big ole noggin right in his face, obscuring the light and morphing it into some kind of halo around the haphazard curls on top of his head. It had absolutely nothing to do with his pale skin making him look like some sort of angel. Besides, since when do angels wear prescription glasses?)

What he didn’t anticipate was that Richie would go as far to wait patiently in the corridor as Mandy fished an ice pack out of the freezer for him, stay with him when she went to find some medicine, or sit with him while he took his pills. He didn't think Richie would stay for any of it, but then again, Eddie didn't think he would get sent to the nurse’s office on his first day at Camp Willow.

“I’ll walk you back.” Richie almost demands, as if he’s got no other choice but to repay his debt to Eddie by following him around everywhere. Eddie’s skin crawls at the thought. Not that Richie isn't a nice guy, per-say, because he probably is… When he’s not kicking balls with an insane amount of force or breathing down his neck. 

Even so, Eddie does not want to spend more time with him than necessary, no matter how nice he _might_ be. He’s got better, more important things to do, like introduce himself to forty people around his age and participate in a bunch of icebreakers like he did in high school. Real vital stuff. 

Plus, doesn’t Richie have like, things to do? From what Eddie can tell, he is either a returning counselor or a staff member at the very least, and most likely has a bunch of other stuff he should be tending to right about now. 

Then again, Eddie had walked in on some impromptu game of kickball (or some variation of the game… He’s still not sure) doubtlessly started by Richie himself. So, maybe not. 

Seconds pass by and Eddie is still looking at Richie as he looks back at him, Mandy has conveniently disappeared into the background somewhere, and things are starting to get a little weird. Not to mention the fact that they’re wasting time. 

Or, rather: _Eddie_ is wasting time. 

And now he’s stuck, because he _could_ just say no and be rude about the whole ordeal. Except it’s his very first day at Camp Willow and he’s only walked to his cabin a total of one time since arriving this afternoon. And yeah, he’s always been good with directions. _But_ that’s when he’s paying attention. Which he one hundred percent was not doing earlier (hence, the ball in his face.) Though he’s got a totally credible excuse for that. For example, he was far too busy overthinking lots of very crucial stuff that he’d rather not delve into right about now and suffered the consequences. Something about his mom not knowing his whereabouts and the very real possibility of her having a full-fledged heart attack when she finds out that he is not spending the summer at his aunt’s house, or whatever. 

(Oops?)

That’s all besides the point. _The point_ is that Eddie has no idea how to get back to his cabin, and Richie does. ‘Cause he’s obviously been here before and knows his way around. It is this verity that leaves Eddie with no other choice but to let Richie walk him. So, without any further ado, he takes a deep breath and decides he is going to have to do just that.

As he stands from his seat, Richie watches him with what Eddie can tell he intends to come across as moderate curiosity. But he’s got one of those overly dramatic faces like the ones theater kids need to portray Hamlet at their rundown high school, so his eyes are big and filled with obvious confusion.

He kind of looks like a bug. 

“To the cabin,” Eddie gestures then, in the general direction of where he thinks said cabin might be. 

At that, Richie hops to his feet with a visible grin on his face. Eddie blinks in surprise. He’s not sure how exciting giving directions really is, but. To each their own. 

“To the cabin,” Richie confirms. 

As it turns out, their cabin (or “Buckeye" as Richie calls it) is in the entirely opposite direction of where Eddie had pointed to.

Richie leads the way as they walk along a little dirt path lined with fresh-cut grass and dandelions. They remind Eddie of crystal balls, murky white and round as they sway in the light breeze. Some childish part of him wants to reach down and pluck one from the Earth, to push his lips together and blow; to send them off into the wind like he used to do when he was younger and his mother wasn’t around to scold him for it. For just a moment, he lets his gaze linger on them, thinking _maybe just this once—she’s not here_ before he walks right past them, omitting his urges.

When he glances up from the ground, Richie is leaning towards it. Eddie watches him bemusedly as he crouches to the ground and practically stuffs his face right into a group of unsuspecting dandelions. He sucks an obnoxiously large breath and lets it out in one forceful puff. It sends the little seeds flying in every which way, up into the sky or into the grass. Some even coming back to hit Richie in the face, and Eddie has to stifle a snort as Richie waves them away.

There’s a voice in his head chanting: _DO NOT INTERACT, DO NOT ENGAGE_ , but Eddie’s kind of having a difficult time listening to it. Especially when Richie opens his mouth to say something, most likely in defense of himself, only to be greeted by a hoard of vengeful dandelion puffs. 

“Mother Nature,” he greets cryptically around a mouthful of flower seed, “the rivalry continues.” He spits on the ground dramatically. Then, standing upright, he juts a thumb in the direction of the flowers and says to Eddie: “I planned that.”

From where he stands only a few feet away, Eddie eyes Richie skeptically. “Of course,” he agrees, nodding. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Richie he’s still got a bit of dandelion on his mouth, so he doesn’t. 

Together, they continue down the path in shared silence. Richie is a few paces ahead of him, which allows Eddie to relish in it, uninterrupted. There is a stretch of trees on either side of them, and Eddie admires their dark green leaves and sturdy branches. Off to the side of the trail is a lake, one of two, and from what Eddie can see its size matches that of the entire camp. Even where he stands he can hear the waves as they crash onto the shore. 

For a second, everything seems peaceful. There is no stinging pain in his cheek, no headache, no Richie (the latter and the former are fundamentally synonymous). No one to poke at him or lecture him for not wearing enough sunscreen (though, he should probably reapply soon). It’s just him, the insects and the forest. 

That is, until, Richie decides to interrupt Eddie’s newfound serenity by opening his loud mouth and reinstating his presence. 

“So, Eds,” Eddie immediately crinkles his nose at that. _Eds? What kind of nickname is that?_ “What brought you all the way to The Torture Emporium for the More or Less Fortunate Souls of New England?” He falls back to match Eddie’s pace, presumably so they can have some sort of conversation. Like, one where Eddie will have to tell Richie things about himself. Which is not happening. 

Disregarding the random nickname and “Torture Emporium” thing completely, Eddie simply looks at Richie and says “needed a job” with a noncommittal shrug. He has to be vague if he wants to keep this little chat as short and as enigmatic as humanly possible. 

His answer, however, is not enough to deter Richie from finding things to talk about. Much to Eddie’s dismay. 

“So you’re telling me you haven’t been dreaming of working here your entire life?” Eddie must look appalled because Richie just laughs and says “oh yeah, Mr. Boss Man thinks this is our dream job. You met him yet?”

Eddie nods his head slowly. He thinks Richie is referring to the owner, Mr. Hill. Tall and intimidating, Mr. Hill resembles what Eddie always imagined a Wall Street broker would look like. Not a man who ran a summer camp for kids ages five to fifteen. 

“Yeah, that’s a man who hasn’t felt the gentle touch of a woman in decades. The kids love him, though. But that’s just ‘cause they never see him. Only on Opening Day and when the ‘rents visit. That’s when he plays Mister Nice Guy. ‘Oh, Mrs. Jensen, Sally is just a pleasure!’” he speaks in a presidential tone, personating Mr. Hill. Surprisingly, it’s not too far off, but Eddie isn't going to admit that out loud. 

“Little does Mrs. Jensen know, Sally wrote ‘Rebecca Carlson gave Brody Williams a handie during lake day’ on the Canteen wall. Hill probably doesn’t know that either, ‘cause guess who got to clean it? This guy,” he points a finger to his chest, “Me. I did. Took me two hours, two _whole_ ones, ‘cause she wrote it in sharpie. Kid knew what she was doing, gotta give her that.”

Eddie blinks, trying and failing to keep up with Richie’s blabbering. Perplexed, he furrows his brow and wonders. He wonders why Richie would be the one to clean it up, why this Sally girl would write it in the Canteen of all places, and most importantly, why Richie is telling him all of this. 

Richie must sense Eddie’s confusion without even having to look at him, because he turns to him and says “Oh, yeah. Boss Man? Hates me. Has since the day I got here.” There’s an almost satisfied smirk on his face. Eddie frowns. He hardly thinks that’s something to be proud of. 

Oblivious to Eddie’s judgmental gaze, Richie continues. 

“Old geezer took one look at me and said: this kid? Yeah, he’s the worst. Gonna give him the cabin full of ruffians FOR sure. And then we’ll blame it on his leadership skills,” shaking his head, he scoffs. “Total bullshit, but whatever. He signs my five-thousand-dollar check every summer, so I guess I win. Plus, the kids? Fucking love me. Not to toot my own horn or show off my boat, or whatever. A kid asked me if he could take me home with him last year,” and as he rambles, Eddie stares straight ahead, pretending to listen. 

“That’s cool,” he mumbles, feigning interest. Richie continues his rant, this time about how he’s lucky Mr. Hill wasn't around to see him and his friends play kickball when they were supposed to be helping the administrators with the new counselors and blah blah blah. 

Furtively, he squints off into the distance and tries to make out the sign that lays a few yards away. He thinks it’s some sort of clearing, hopefully leading to wherever it is the boy’s bunks are located. Apart of him feels guilty for tuning Richie out, but from what he was hearing, it was nothing of any real importance. If anything it was just an excuse for Richie to hear himself talk. 

When they’re close enough, Eddie makes out the tiny letters on the wooden sign to say “Boy’s Bunks”. They round the corner and sure enough, seven log cabins greet them. It dawns on Eddie then that the trail they took to get here is entirely different from the one that he and the others walked along earlier. Which would explain the new scenery and giant ass lake he didn't see before. From the clearing, it’s barely visible. Just a little splotch of blue in between the trees that surround the bunks.

Buckeye, the cabin that Eddie, Richie, and the other male counselors have been assigned for the next week, is by far the largest out of the bunch. It stands dead center, with a porch steps and the whole shebang. There are two ancient looking oak trees on either side of it, and Eddie finds himself feeling aggravatingly small.

“Home schweet home,” Richie sighs, and Eddie nearly jumps at the sound of his voice. 

Luckily, the door is unlocked. Richie pushes it open with a flourish and insists Eddie go in before him, which Eddie finds incredibly annoying. With a secret eye roll, he steps inside and makes a beeline for his bunk. Conveniently placed in the back corner of the large cabin, Eddie was glad he got first pick earlier. He’d been one of the first counselors to arrive, allowing him primetime selection. So, he settled for the bunk bed against the wall and claimed the bottom bunk for himself. He’d never slept on a bunk bed before, even as a child. The idea of being so high up off the ground in a bed is as unsettling to him now as it had been at the age of seven. 

Richie follows him into the cabin but stops near the first set of beds. Eddie wonders which one is his, and hopes to God its as far away from him as possible. 

When he reaches his bed, he is quick to drop the ice pack he just about forgot he was holding and lugs his suitcase up onto the mattress. His fingers move toward the zipper and he tugs, but it doesn't budge. He inhales sharply, frustrated. Of course, his zipper is stuck. Why wouldn't it be? His day is already shitty, why not make it worse? Just sprinkle a little more disaster on top of the train wreck cake. Who cares?

Eddie closes his eyes to collect himself, stuffs all his anxiety deep, deep down—where it belongs. 

With a huff, he tries again. And again. A fifth and then a sixth time. Shaking the zipper one last time, he has to bite down on his lip to keep himself from crying out loud. No such luck. His zipper is broken and now he can’t change out of his dirt-stained t-shirt and they’ve wasted even more time and Richie is _still talking_. Everything is fantastic. Peachy fucking keen. 

“I don’t think they’ve ever dusted this thing,” Richie is saying, “like, never. Not since they built the place.”

Eddie heaves a sigh, dreading what he is about to do. “Uh, Richie?” 

“And that was back in like, the thirties or something. That was sixty years ago. Some of these webs were around when FDR was president. That’s gotta be toxic, right? Think about it.”

“Richie.”

“Hey!” He points up to the ceiling, giving no indication that he’s heard Eddie at all. “I’m pretty sure this one was here last summer, I remember—”

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie calls one last time, cheeks tinted pink and jaw tight. God, he’s doing this on purpose, isn't he? There’s no way he can’t hear him, Eddie knows he can be loud when he wants to be. He’s just ignoring him for the sake of hearing himself talk.

Just as this thought crosses his mind, Richie snaps his mouth shut and just about spins on his heel to look at Eddie with a jumbled expression. 

“Too much dust talk? Sorry, I’ll stop if it’s like, annoying you, or—”

“No, it’s just,” Eddie sighs again, head screaming: _why are you doing this? Why why why why_ —“My zipper. It’s stuck,” he explains, pointing to the aforementioned, cursed zipper. Richie blinks. 

“Oh. Want me to try?” He offers. “Most people wouldn't know it, but these bad boys,” he flexes a nearly invisible bicep, “save lives every day.”

 _Is he serious?_ Eddie just about laughs in Richie’s face, but then remembers that’s not exactly something you do when asking someone for their help. So, he sighs instead for the millionth time today. 

Thankfully, Richie gets the hint. 

He strides over to where Eddie stands, cracking his knuckles and waggling his fingers in a ridiculous motion. When he gets closer, his eyes brighten. 

“Well, would you look at that!” Richie crows. “We’re bunkmates!”

Eddie blanches. “W-what?” This has got to be some sort of sick joke. This is not happening to him. No way. God, he’s gonna be sick. 

Richie pats the bed situated directly over Eddie’s with an obnoxious grin on his face. “You and me. We’re bed buddies. Cabin chumps. Mattress mates. Pillow pals. Cool, huh?” He poses, blissfully unaware of the fire that is igniting Eddie’s insides. 

Seconds pass before he caves and gives Richie a weak smile. 

“Yeah.” Eddie swallows, _hard_. "Cool.”

-

By the time Eddie and Richie reconvene with the others at Social Hall, there’s only an hour left until dinner. Fortunately, they didn’t miss much in their absence. Only solo introductions and a single round of some icebreaker game Eddie’s never heard of before. The piles of discarded toilet paper, however, tell him it’s nothing he won’t lose sleep over. 

The same cannot be said for the way everyone turns to look at him and Richie as they step in through the entrance. Scattered whispers and giggles spread throughout the crowd, and Eddie finds himself wishing he held onto his ice pack so he would have something to hide behind. 

Forty pairs of shameless eyes watch as the two of them saunter toward the circle they’ve been arranged in. “Alphabetical,” one of the administrators tells them, and Eddie feels a wave of relief rush over him at the thought of no longer being tied to Richie. Without so much as a goodbye, they separate.

Eddie’s cheeks burn white hot as he scurries toward an open spot, one they’ve set aside just for him most likely. He’s never been so humiliated in his entire life. Getting hit in the face wasn’t even this bad, but then again that was probably because he’d narrowly escaped unconsciousness.

“Eddie, right?” a voice rings through his ears, suddenly, causing his shoulders to tense involuntarily. _Does everyone know my name now? Am I going to be known as that guy that got nailed in the face and had to go to the nurse like a big cry baby on his first day?_

“Uh,” he squeaks, “yeah?” He can’t even bring himself to look up from his lap.

“I’m Wendy. We’re supposed to be partners,” the voice sounds again, and then hand pokes through his peripheral vision. He swallows the ginormous lump in his throat and turns to look at who it belongs to. 

His gaze falls on a girl with bleached blonde hair and eyes so brown they’re almost black, smile sympathetic as she waits for Eddie to take her hand. He does so clumsily, gripping it loosely to keep her from feeling how clammy his palm is. Biting down on the tip of his tongue, he forces a smile. 

“Partners for what?” he asks stupidly because the answer is obvious. 

Nevertheless, Wendy giggles and motions to the circle they’ve been positioned into. The back of Eddie’s neck flushes. Shoulders sagging, he exhales through his nostrils, long and exasperated. “Another icebreaker?” 

Wendy nods. “Another icebreaker,” she verifies with a pouty lip. 

He wonders what ridiculous activity he and his fellow counselors will be forced to do this time around. He prays dodgeballs are not involved. 

“Are you like, friends with him?” Wendy asks him randomly, a hint of disdain somewhere beneath the airiness of her voice. 

For a second, Eddie is confused, considering he doesn't know a single person at this Camp. At least, not well enough for him to consider them a friend. As if on cue, he catches the eyes of someone who is proving to be the bane of his existence. 

_Richie,_ he realizes, _she’s talking about Richie._

“No,” he blurts, hoping that his anxious reply sounds believable. The last thing he needs people thinking is that they’re friends—because they are not. Eddie and Richie are _not_ friends. They never will be. The only things they have in common are a bunk bed and a dusty old dodgeball. The dodgeball that sealed his fate.

And so long as Eddie has a say in it, those will be the only things they have in common. _Ever_. 

As if his life depends on it, Eddie will do everything in his power to keep himself as far away from Richie as he can attain. They might be “bedmates”, or whatever the fuck Richie called it, but they would only be “that” for the next week. Seven days is hardly enough time to get to know someone. Which is the last thing Eddie wants from Richie—or anyone at Camp Willow. 

Besides, once the kids arrive, they’ll be split up into separate cabins. Consequently, the probability of them being assigned to the same one is slim, even slimmer is the possibility they could be in charge of the same stations. And if luck won’t save him, statistics will. 

When he looks up from his lap, he finds that Richie is still studying him from across the room, his eyes still comically large even though they’re nearly a yard apart. He soon realizes that Eddie is looking back at him, and takes that as an invitation, so he sends him a grin and waves to him.

“Does Richie know that?” Wendy giggles behind her palm, and Eddie’s cheeks blush at the fact that she’s witnessing this.

“No,” Eddie sighs as he responds to Richie’s eagerness with the faintest of smiles, “I don’t think he does.”


End file.
